


call it magic

by dip_dyed_ghost



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magic, Witch AU, Witch!Phil, skeptic!Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dip_dyed_ghost/pseuds/dip_dyed_ghost
Summary: Phil knew dating a mortal could come with complications, but he never thought it’d be the same one over and over again.Or: the one where Phil’s a witch, Dan’s not, and when Phil tries to break the news to him, Dan doesn’t believe him at all.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56
Collections: Phandom Reverse Bang 2020





	call it magic

**Author's Note:**

> hey, so this fic was written for the 2020 phandom reverse bang! it's my first time participating and I had a lot of fun :) 
> 
> big thanks to my wonderful beta, [@anotheregofanficblog](https://anotheregofanficblog.tumblr.com/), who helped me see things I skipped over, and to [@microoowave](https://microoowave.tumblr.com/post/622704845351206912/here-is-my-art-for-this-years-phandomreversebang), for the prompt and the lovely art that you can check out [here](https://microoowave.tumblr.com/post/622704845351206912/here-is-my-art-for-this-years-phandomreversebang). <3
> 
> (title is from magic by coldplay)

Phil's no stranger to the feeling of anxiety, but right here, sitting on the couch and pretending to watch TV as Dan browses on his laptop beside him, it’s never felt so pronounced, like the air is too thick to properly get into his lungs. 

It’s not everyday he plans to reveal a secret about himself he’d been taught to keep hidden since childhood. 

Ease into it. That’s what all the blogs he'd stumbled across said. If you're ready to tell your partner you're a witch, don't just come out and say it. Instead, hint at it, leave clues lying around, let them get used to the idea before dropping something like that onto them. Be considerate and try to see things from their perspective.

The blogs might be talking about a different kind of witch than the one he is, but he figures the main point still remains the same. 

For the past few weeks, Phil has been trying that. Leaving crystal points in the corners of their flat. Lighting coloured candles with sigils carved into them instead of their typical scented ones, and then putting them where Dan could see them. Moving his altar from the bottom of his closet into plain sight on his dresser, and even making a second, tinier one in a corner of their bookshelf.

He doesn't think it's done much good. Dan had mentioned it, but he'd commented as if it was a new stylistic quirk, as just another aesthetic Phil had taken a liking too.

For someone so smart, he’s had a hard time picking up what Phil was putting down.

The show on the TV transitions into commercials. Phil was just about to go for it, cut right to the chase, something like 'hey, how would you feel about me being a witch?' but then whatever ad is playing catches his attention, drawing him in at the mention of auras. There's a lady on the TV dressed in multiple layers of deep-coloured cloth, advertising her services as a psychic who also does aura readings. Cheesy spooky music plays in the background. 

And oh, what a perfect way to start the conversation. Phil doesn't even need to make it about him.

"Hey," he says. Dan hums to show he's listening, but otherwise doesn't react. "Hey," Phil repeats. 

Dan looks away from his computer. It's early enough that the remnants of sleep still cling to him, puffing his face, making his eyes look adorably squinty. He's not yet dressed in day clothes, instead wearing joggers and a worn-in shirt, his version of pyjamas. He looks so...soft, really. It's not a completely familiar sight, only having been living in the same flat about a month despite how long they’ve been together, but Phil doesn't think he'll ever get used to it. Morning Dan might just be his favourite. 

"What?" Dan asks. 

The commercial ends before Phil has the chance to point it out. He doesn't let that deter him, stretching across the couch to grab the remote to rewind it a couple seconds. His heart is so loud it's like he can hear it in his head. He presses the button to rewind, moving without thinking, not giving himself the time to back out even as his fingers shake the slightest bit. Dan watches, a look of confusion passing his face when the spooky music plays again.

"What-" Phil starts, clears his throat, "-what do you think of that?" 

Dan looks to the TV, then back at Phil. He huffs a small laugh. "I...there's so much going on there. I don't know where to start.”

"No, I mean- not the whole get-up. Or the filming."

Phil gives him a meaningful look. Dan blinks. 

"Okay," Dan says. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"Like, the whole aura reading, the psychic stuff."

The couch dips as Dan turns towards him. "Why, you wanna go see one?" 

Phil shakes his head. "I just want to know your opinion."

He knows what it is without asking. Phil just hopes it’s changed since the last time the subject’s come up.

"You already know what I'm going to say." Dan tilts his head in a way that could be condescending, if not for the joking manner he does it. Phil can't quite smile back.

“I don’t,” he says, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral. 

And it's not a complete lie. Maybe Dan had changed his mind. Phil can remember conversations they had at the beginning of all this, when they were still just friends, new to each other and to London, willing to talk about anything or nothing at all. He remembers passing fortune teller signs on the street and Dan's comments about how fake it all is, how they're all scammers. They weren't that close yet. It was easy to look past then. 

Now, not so much. 

"Phil. Come on." Dan gives him a look. "You really think I believe in all that stuff?" 

"Why don't you?"

He huffs. "There's no science to back it up, for starters."

"So?" Phil feels his gut twist as Dan keeps looking at him like this isn't worth taking seriously. "There used to be ‘science’ to back up the Earth being flat. Look how that turned out." This is pretty much what he expected, he reminds himself. He had hoped this conversation would go over smoothly, but he did have a plan if it didn't go the way he wanted it to. Phil pauses the TV, then looks at Dan head-on. "Give me a better reason."

"Since when do you wanna start debates? Thought that was my thing."

"I'm being serious. This is important to me."

Phil can't imagine his life without his magic. He grew up with it, aged around it, bonded with his family over something they all shared. It was one of the only things he was really good at. It's a passion. It's such an inane part of him that it might as well be a limb, and the idea that he would have to hide that from the closest friend and partner he's ever had is devastating. Phil can't live like that. 

Why'd he have to go and fall in love with a skeptic?

Dan doesn't answer right away, opting instead to look at him. He seems to be getting uncomfortable, shifting in a seat, arms crossing over himself, so Phil makes the conscious effort to tone down his gaze so that it's not as defensive. 

“Alright,” Dan says. “I just...don't believe in it. It doesn't make any sense.”

Phil's just going to have to go for it. "What if I told you I could prove it?" He readies himself, ignoring the way his stomach feels like it's turning itself inside out. "What if I said I'm a witch?"

His secret is out now, and there's nothing he can do to take it back. He waits for Dan to react, but for the most part he's unfazed, eyebrows raised with an expression that says he doesn't believe a word he's saying. Dan leans back into the couch, everything about him exuding 'you're kidding me.'

"You're a witch now, are you?" he muses. "Is that why there's a bunch of crystals and candles all over the place?"

Phil closes his eyes, trying to centre himself. "You can't make fun of this." Even he can tell he sounds upset. So much for remaining neutral.

“Are you being serious right now?”

Phil’s tone is clipped when he replies, “Yes.” He resists the urge to cross his arms and shield himself away. “I already said I was.”

A moment later he feels a hand on his knee. The pressure is light, hesitant, like Dan's not sure if it's the right move or not. The touch drains out the irritation that had built up in Phil, leaving a feeling of upset with no anger left to hide behind. 

“Hey,” Dan says softly, letting his hand rest more firmly on Phil’s leg. “I'm sorry.” He pauses, his hand sliding up a bit as he shifts in his seat. “It’s just... a witch? Really?"

Phil resists the urge to pout. ”Yes, really."

“What does that even mean?”

When he was younger, Phil had had a hard time differentiating his normal from everyone else's. It was weird to him that other kids didn't have spells to clean their rooms for them, potions to cure them of colds, gemstones to help guide them in the direction of lost objects. Didn't everyone travel to their grandparents by portal? Didn't everyone feel the rush and exhilaration of getting a spell right on the first try? The line between magic and not was blurred. 

It was so sad to him that not everyone could do what he did. It still is, actually. And it's even sadder that that fact makes it so he has to keep the wonders of magic hidden, less he be attacked for it. What a world.

"Like, spells and stuff," Phil explains. "Potions. _Magic_." Even just the mention of it sparks something inside him. He wishes he could use that spark, use it to encourage the wind to whoosh above Dan's head, ruffle his hair, introduce him to something he never thought possible. Phil doesn't do that. Instead, he continues, saying, "I'm working on a few different potions right now. I can show you when I'm done."

"Oh yeah? What kind of potions?" Dan still seems teasing, like he doesn't quite believe him, but Phil can work with that. 

He shrugs. “Nice ones. Ones that help.”

Dan asks more questions about it, wondering what he puts in them, how they're made, how long he's been doing this. Phil can tell the questions are just to indulge him, but it feels so good to finally talk about this to someone outside of his family that he can't bring himself to care. 

He has to get some ingredients ready first before showing Dan anything, but Dan's fine with that, saying that Phil can take all the time he needs. There's no disdain or contempt in his voice, although there is a little bit of mocking, and Phil doesn't know which would be worse. Dan doesn't look down on all this; he just thinks it's stupid. 

He's just playing along. 

It's fine. Phil will just have to prove him otherwise. He could start out with something big, but too much right away would probably scare him off. A small potion first. Baby steps.

With that in mind, Phil starts mentally preparing the recipe he's going to need.

  


* * *

  


Late that night, Dan already in bed as Phil lounges alone in the living room, listening to Sonic in his cage, his tiny, little hedgehog feet spinning his wheel and making the plastic make a faint rattling noise, he thinks about how best to do this. He still has a few calming potions left over from his mom's last visit, her own special concoction that always brings him feelings of comfort. 

A mood-modifier wouldn't be the best start, though. He needs something tactile. An effect on the world around them.

Sonic's exercise wheel squeaks as he runs faster in it, zooming at an ungodly hour like the nocturnal animal he is. The rattling becomes louder and tears Phil from his thoughts.

"Shh," he whispers to him. "I'm thinking." 

The rattling stops abruptly. Sonic gets out and walks up to the edge of his cage. The hedgehog snorts, shaking his head, and Phil sits up slightly to look at his familiar, a mix of annoyance and fondness filling him. Sonic's brown and white quills are messed up like they are when he wants to get his attention.

"What?"

Sonic walks to the left front corner of his cage and gestures with his nose towards the bookshelf. Phil sighs, dreading having to get up, then untangles his legs beneath him and stands to follow where he's been pointed. 

Phil goes to his second altar he’d set up on a shelf in their worn-in, wooden bookshelf that holds all of their combined books and random trinkets. Various items for his craft are scattered in his little area: there’s a half-melted candle that smells of incense, dried wildflowers he'd picked outside, old books with spells he'd been trying to improve stacked up on their sides, small clay bowls, glass bottles, polished gemstones, and four objects to represent all the elements - a knife for fire, a feather for air, dirt in a wooden bowl for earth, and water in a vase for, well, water.

Out of all of it, the feather is probably his favorite; he’s always had a natural affinity for air magic. 

Although everything on there is the same as it's been for the past few weeks, Sonic still squeaks as he stares at it.

"I don't know what you're trying to say," Phil tells him. His pet may be a powerful but kind demon that's taken on the form of an animal to help him, but the lack of human speech is really an inconvenience.

Sonic curls up into a ball, all his quills spiking up in every direction, making him look like a ground-dwelling sea urchin. Phil huffs and turns back to his altar.

"No need to get all prickly." Phil stares at the items and hopes one will make sense. "You're like a little cactus," he muses, comparing him to the succulent in the granite pot he’d added for decor on another shelf. Sonic snorts violently. Phil turns to tell him to calm down, that at this rate they're going to disturb Dan, only to see that he's perfectly docile, all quills down and nose sniffing the air. 

Phil turns back to the succulent. 

"Oh!" he exclaims quietly. "Plants! Sure, yeah, that could work." Phil stares at the potted torch plant and lets his ideas flow. "Plants. I can do something with plants.” He crosses the room to put his hand gently on the wire of the cage. "Thank you." 

Sonic could get out of the cage anytime he wants, so it's there more just for show and for Dan, who would question having a hedgehog run free around the house, but Phil thinks his familiar secretly enjoys having a home base. He sure spends a lot of time in it. Maybe it's comforting for a demon.

It doesn't take long for Phil to start coming up with potion ideas - maybe one to cure their half-dead pothos, or to make flowers bloom, or to give a plant an infinite water supply so it never runs too dry. He settles on the healing one, figuring it has a noticeable enough effect without being too intimidating. A perfect display to ease Dan in.

Phil brainstorms ingredients that could work. 

Eucalyptus. Ground-up red quartz. A lit blue candle as it brews.

They’re all easy enough to work with that they shouldn't cause any problems, but the potion will need time to mature. Phil decides to start and finish it right there at 3 in the morning, a decision he knows he's going to regret when he has to wake up, although the sooner it begins maturing, the sooner he can use it.

He mixes and simmers it on the stove, stores it using a portal spell, and goes right to sleep afterwards.

For the rest of the week, Dan doesn't mention him being a witch, and Phil doesn't bring it up. It isn't until one afternoon, while Dan is holed up on the couch in the living room, probably busy editing, that Phil figures it's a good time to check up on his plant elixir. 

The lock on their bedroom door clicks as he turns it. 

He steps back, puts his hand up in front of him, and pictures a zipper so clearly he can see it. He grabs the air and pulls. The space in front of him opens up like a portal to another world. The opening is about the size of a rounded piece of paper. It hangs offensively in the air at eye level in a way that makes the laws of physics look like they’re glitching.

It’s a relatively new spell, so he's not good enough at it yet to make the passage big enough to step through, but there's still enough space to fit his hand in.

He supposes he could just show Dan this. It'd be quicker and easier. But presenting a portal that disobeys all laws of physics isn't going slow, and it isn't easing him in. It would probably freak him out too much.

Listening to make sure Dan's not coming, Phil puts his hand through the opening. The inside is built like a box turned on its side, a tiny room that holds a few potions that needed to age out of sight while Phil did other things, like remember to set out his moon water and order coriander and rosemary, both spices he was running low on. 

Phil reaches to the back of the portal, intending to grab the healing elixir. It's at the deepest part, and in his effort to reach it, his elbow knocks into the frontmost one, and it falls to the floor before he even has time to react, leaving Phil with only a split second to hope it won't break on impact. 

He's never been all that lucky. 

There is the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, a loud clink and crunch as the single bottle breaks into a handful of tiny pieces. Phil lets out a high-pitched yelp and jumps back. A cloud of fluorescent smoke floods out as the liquid that was inside dissipates, leaving Phil with no clue as to which one he just broke. 

"Phil?" Dan calls out. "I swear to god, if you knocked over the terrarium again I'm taking my plants away. Protective plant services are coming for your ass."

"I didn't!" he shouts back. "No terrariums were harmed in the making of this film. Everything's fine." 

The fluorescent fumes are dissipating, the bright yellow colour fading as they disappear, which would be a welcome sight if Phil knew what they just did. It could be so many things. He doesn't feel any different, other than the new worry and confusion, so it’s not one of the mood-modifiers. Or, maybe it is, and the effects are just offset? 

He looks back inside the portal and tries to deduct which one is missing. 

"What'd you break, then?" Dan's voice sounds closer, and with a jolt Phil realizes he's walking over. In a panic he zips the portal shut, air immediately filling its place like it never existed. 

Dan walks in to find him standing there like he's been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. They stare at each other. Phil, with poorly concealed panic tensing him, and Dan, with wide eyes that flicker above Phil's head, then back, before finally locking above him.

For a moment, Phil worries that he didn't actually shut the portal, only move it, but then Dan comes closer, and in absolute bewilderment, says, "What did you do to your _hair_?"

And. 

Oh. 

This could have turned out so much worse.

Phil reaches up to grab a strand, hoping it's still actually hair. To his relief, it feels the same, all soft and straight, but when he pulls a front piece down towards his eyes, sudden light bursts into his vision. He leaves Dan there and turns on his heels, rushing to the bathroom. The reflection he finds is not a look he thought he'd ever see on himself.

Whereas before he had bottle-black hair - a look he had grown quite fond of, thanks - he was now sporting a colour that looked like it came out of a glow stick. He suddenly realizes which potion it had been - it was an energizer designed to give him an extra kick in the mornings. Its main ingredient was firefly light, although thankfully no creatures had to be harmed to make it. 

This was definitely not its intended effect, but with Dan in the other room waiting for some kind of explanation, Phil can't spend the time he needs to figure out what went wrong. He gives his fluorescent fringe one last touch and heads back out.

Dan is carefully holding a piece of the shattered bottle. It's whole enough to still have a cork pushed in, sealing off a potion that's no longer there. He looks up as Phil walks in. "You know," he starts, slightly shaking the bottle, only to then cut himself off as he sees the hair again. 

"...Wow. Right. I was going to mention how I've only ever seen these kinds of bottles in video games, but that's...man." He laughs, a look on his face that's between fond and exasperated. “What kind of hair dye did you _buy_?” 

"I didn't," Phil says, preparing to reveal his truth. "I made it. Well," he adds, turning his hand side to side, "not for this. Still made it though."

At his confession, Dan's face drops. "Phil!" he exclaims, concern taking over his features. He puts the broken bottle back on the floor and walks over to him. Dan reaches out like he's going to touch the glowing strands, but then pulls back, like he's afraid it's going to hurt. "What the hell," he says. "You're going to give yourself bloody chemical burns. What the actual...." His hand hovers in the air for a moment, moving forwards and backwards in tiny movements, before finally reaching out to brush Phil's fringe away from his forehead. "God. There's no way that isn't toxic."

He bats Dan's hand away. "Stop it. I'm fine," he says. "It's not the first time a potion has backfired on me. I bet it won’t be the last, either.”

"What?" 

Dan gets a weird look on his face. Phil has seen it before. It usually comes out when they're watching a show and Dan notices a big plot hole, gesturing at the absurdity, pointing out how crazy it is that a whole team of people could miss something so obvious. It's like he can't believe what he's seeing on TV. That whoever made it is mad.

When Dan looks at him like that, it feels like he's what's crazy.

"An energizing potion?" It's not meant to come out as a question, but for some reason the end of Phil's sentence goes up, his tone so different from the sure, confident one he'd pictured himself using in this kind of situation. "For...energy?"

“Oh." Dan's finger taps against his thigh. Phil eyes pan down to catch the movement. He longs to stop it, to remove the uncertain and anxious beat it's playing out. "This is about the witch thing.”

"Yeah. I swear it wasn't supposed to do this." 

"What else is hair dye for?"

"No, no, it's not hair dye," Phil stresses. He really needs the healing elixir. "Just- turn around. This was the wrong one. I need to grab a different potion."

Dan looks around the room, as if he might suddenly find bottles piled up on Phil's desk. "You keep them in here?"

"...In a way."

Dan narrows his eyes. "You're being uncharacteristically cryptic, mate."

Phil doesn't reply, opting instead to spin his finger until Dan sighs and turns around. As quick as he can, Phil opens the portal, grabs the potion at the back, and closes it up.

"Okay. You can look now."

Dan's confusion is apparent when he sees Phil with a bottle in hand without having moved. The liquid inside is red and syrupy, colour sticking to the sides of the glass as he swirls it.

“Where’d you get that?”

He resists the urge to smirk. “Oh, y'know. Magic.”

Dan rolls his eyes. "Fine. Keep your state secrets." He flops down crossed-legged on Phil's bed, waiting expectantly. "What's it supposed to do, then?"

"It's for our houseplants. To give them happy little leaves."

Dan spreads his arm out like he's giving Phil centre stage. Their pothos plant has been waiting on his desk since this morning, nestled in a brown clay pot, and Phil walks over to it. It hasn't been doing too well lately, its once green and shiny leaves curling around the edges and turning yellow. It's very clearly sick. 

Making sure Dan is watching before he starts, Phil uncorks the potion with a squeaky pop, bends down to be at eye level with the plant, and slowly pours it into the soil.

Immediately, it starts healing, the shine and brightness returning to the leaves, the yellow fading away. A sense of accomplishment fills Phil's chest as he watches his magic work its way through. It never ceases to amaze him, how a few ingredients and intent can make such a big change. 

Phil turns to Dan with excitement thrumming through him. Maybe just a bit of fear, too - he really, really wants him to react well. It all comes down to this.

"Yeah? How about that?"

Dan squints his eyes. “It looks the same as before.”

And that’s. 

Not at all how he was supposed to react. 

Phil wishes his past self would’ve seen this reaction as a possibility, so that he could’ve done something different, like maybe take a before and after picture to compare. Phil looks to the plant that's now full of life, comparing it to the one in his head that looks like it could rot.

“ _Dan_.”

“What? You want me to lie?”

"It's...it's cured! No more yellow spots!"

Dan grimaces. "There weren't really any to begin with."

Phil is at a loss. He doesn't know where to go from here. He points at his head, unable to get the words he wants to say out. 

“I’m literally glowing,” Phil tells him. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dan lets out a little laugh. “You look like a highlighter.” 

Phil wants to pout, among other things. “It’s based on a firefly.”

Dan gets off the bed to get a closer look, walking forward and reaching out to card his fingers through Phil’s fluorescent fringe. The strands illuminate his fingertips and cast light onto his face. His brown eyes look so warm in the glow. 

"It's just science," Dan says, brushing over his hair with care. "I support your experiments, but I'm not going to call them magic." His hand stills. "Unless...I mean, I _could_ call it that if you really want me to. If it means that much."

“I am a light source." Phil feels the need to point that fact out, not quite believing what he's hearing. "Our plant is completely green again.” 

Dan shrugs. “It was already green." He smiles, as if it'll cushion the impact of his next words. "And, sorry to break it to you, but chemical reactions aren’t magic. Even if they are really cool.” 

_But this one is,_ Phil wants to stress. _You have magic right under your hand and in front of your eyes but you refuse to feel or see it._

He didn't expect it to hurt this much, Dan's utter refusal to see him. He tells Dan that it's fine, wanting him gone for a little while so he can feel what he's feeling in peace. Dan helps clean up the glass from earlier, despite Phil insisting it's fine and that he can do it himself. He feels like he can't breathe until he's out of the room, Dan throwing him an apologetic smile on his way out. 

It comforts him a little bit; Dan's not trying to be malicious. He just doesn't understand.

It's such a weird thing. Most of the time, it feels like Dan can read his mind - Phil can communicate annoyance and excitement and joy all without saying a word, and Dan gets every bit of it. Misunderstandings are rare.

It's hard to remember that relationships work because of communication when usually they don't have to say a word. They always just...got each other. 

Phil is just going to have to try harder.

  


* * *

  


A few days have passed since the hair dying incident, which Phil had since fixed with another potion that neutralizes charms and spells. He figured since that didn’t work, something bolder was in order - a spell daring enough to break through Dan's cynical views.

White light glows from his closed fist as he stands alone in their living room. Windows drawn and lights off, it’s the only illumination in the night-darkened room, but soon it will be so much brighter. 

Phil opens his hand, and the star piece shatters. 

It’s not a piece of an actual star, rather just a ball of rounded glass infused with an enchantment, but as it shatters into a million tiny fragments, shooting upwards and arranging itself on the ceiling, Phil can’t tell the difference.

"Dan," Phil calls out. "Come see this!"

He figured he'd have to do something that Dan couldn't ignore - and what better a show stopper than the night sky on their ceiling? Dan couldn't explain that away. He couldn't.

To complete the display he quickly whispers an enchantment, and a wave of satisfaction comes over him as he watches coloured mist arrange itself behind the stars, streams of blue and red and purple painting a piece of space that doesn't exist anywhere but here.

Dan's voice travels over from the other room. "What?

"Come here!"

The galactic mist fades slightly as Phil calls out, and he readjusts. This is one of the spells that actually requires conscious effort to maintain. He can feel pressure in his head as he focuses on keeping the stars lit up, the familiar pull of magic sparking in his chest.

Dan's expression upon walking into the living room is one Phil can only describe as awe - he watches as Dan's brown eyes go big as soon as he spots the display, lips parting the slightest bit on an exhale, feet frozen to the floor a few steps away. The purple glow cast over him suits him well.

“Holy shit,” Dan breathes.

Pride warms Phil's chest. “You like it?”

"Do I like it?" Dan repeats, letting out a quick laugh. He walks farther into the room, head tilted towards the ceiling. “What is this? What- how-”

“Magic,” Phil says.

This is it. He can feel it. For the very first time, Dan is about to see him, and Phil won't have to hide any longer.

Dan gives him the same look he does whenever he's indulging him, a smile so soft it's like he couldn't help but give Phil whatever he wanted in that moment.

“Whatever it is, it's beautiful," Dan says. "It's lovely." He stares at it for a few long moments, before suddenly turning to Phil with a pointed look. “It better not set off the fire alarm.”

“It wont," he says quickly. "It's not actually smoke.”

Dan looks back up at the make-shift sky. “How'd you do this?”

“It's an old family spell. On my mum's side.” Phil remembers his mum teaching it to him for the first time, and how he could never get the glass to disperse and play in the air quite like she did. It took hours of practice to even come near. He rubs his thumb against his own hand as Dan continues to inspect his work. “She used to cast it for me and Martyn before bed."

Dan smiles. “That's so extra. But seriously, though - is it from some kind of coloured air infuser? LEDs?”

Phil just stands there as Dan shifts his attention from the ceiling to Phil, waiting for some kind of explanation. He feels his grip on the spell slip, his mind filling with the devastating thought of _he doesn't believe me_ , but Phil immediately grabs onto the enchantment tight and holds on, forcing himself to take a breath.

“Did you not hear what I said?” Phil asks, trying his best to remain chill.

Dan nods. “I heard it. I believe you," he says, then implies the complete opposite by continuing with, "Did you burn some kind of essence to make the colours up there? I've never seen that kind of effect before.”

The stars dim. Phil can tell without looking up from the way the light cast around them flickers. He tries to focus, but it's hard when he's also trying to come up with a reply to that. 

“I didn't burn anything. It's an enchantment.”

“An enchantment," Dan repeats. "Yeah. I read up on the witch thing, by the way. I get it.” He motions with his hands. “It's like...like pseudo-magic, right? You do science and then add fancy words.”

Phil doesn't consider himself an expressive person, especially not next to Dan, but right then and there he feels like he could scream.

"It's not pseudo anything," Phil stresses. He throws his arms up. "Look at our ceiling! I made- I put a galaxy up there. You can't explain that away with science."

Dan nods, looking away, then looks back and tilts his head towards him. "Couldn't you, though?"

"No!"

Phil doesn't know how this is happening. He thought for sure...he just doesn't understand. Dan doesn't even seem to have an explanation for it - only that it's definitely _not_ magic, no matter what Phil says, or what's so clearly in front of him. The spell slips, and Phil fumbles before catching the end of it.

"Look," Dan points. "It's already fading."

Phil dares a glance upwards, just in time to see the last of the stars blink out. He drops the rest of the spell then, finding no point in keeping it up, and the coloured galaxy disperses to reveal their plain, white ceiling, seemingly a dark gray with all the lights now out. He can barely see Dan's outline in front of him.

Phil frowns. "That's cause you're being-" he cuts himself off, not sure if he really wants to finish this sentence. He groans and faceplants into their sofa. "Look what you did," he says, voice muffled against the cushion.

The sofa dips with Dan's weight. "It was cool while it lasted," he tries.

"Just forget it." Phil doesn't have the heart to lessen the edge of his tone, but the cushion succeeds in doing it for him.

"Phiiiil," Dan whines. "Come on. Get up."

He feels a poke on his calf. Phil shakes his head. 

"I'm going to stay here till I die."

Dan huffs. "And you call me dramatic."

He feels dramatic, right now. What is Dan even thinking? How is he explaining it to himself?

Phil should've casted the spell with Dan in the room. That way, he could have seen the star piece explode and fly and he wouldn't have been able to explain that one away. That's where he went wrong. This failure was partially Phil's own fault.

Dan touches his leg again, and Phil resists the urge to kick it away. Instead, he settles for bringing his legs up to his chest so that they can't be touched.

"Wait," Dan says quietly. "Are you genuinely upset?" His weight shifts. "Be honest."

Phil was tempted to just roll over and say that it's fine, but that little 'be honest' tacked on at the end makes him reconsider. He sighs, stretching his legs out again.

"Yes." He sits up, eyes adjusted enough to the dark to see Dan sitting cross-legged beside him. There's no teasing in his expression now.

"Phil-" Dan starts, but he cuts him off.

"It's not your fault and it's not mine either." He can be mature about this. Neither of them enjoy actual arguments, but sometimes they have to happen, and it's better off to be productive about it. "You can't just... _make_ yourself believe something. I get that." He pushes his socked foot into Dan's thigh to hopefully ease what he's let build. "And I don't want you to lie. I just need to go think for a bit."

He needs a new game plan. Phil didn't want to go bold, but now he realizes that he might have to. He needs to figure out how far he's willing to go. More importantly, though, what he really needs is to get away from all of this, just step out, even if for a moment. He needs room to think.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," Phil tells him. Dan watches on in concern as he gets up from the couch to go grab his coat. Dan follows him, standing a generous distance away as Phil rummages through the closet.

"This late?"

"Yeah. I need-" _space_ , is what he's going to say, but it seems too harsh. "-air." 

Dan crosses his arms, almost like he's hugging himself. "Okay. Be safe."

Phil pulls a coat out and puts it on. "It's just a walk."

"People get mugged while going on walks. Or hit by cars."

"I'll stay away from traffic."

"You better. You can't die while you're upset with me."

The last sentence hurts a bit - he doesn't want Dan to feel bad, and Phil can't help feeling guilty for having a role in that. He reaches out for Dan's hand. Thankfully, he lets him take it. He's warm, skin soft and familiar, even though it hasn't really been that long since the beginning of it all. Phil squeezes and Dan does it back.

The gesture at least gets him a small smile.

"I'll be back in an hour," Phil says, and Dan tells him to be safe one more time before he's out the door and heading out into the streets of London.

  


* * *

  


Dan had waited for him to get back that night before heading to bed. Phil had spent a large portion of his walk thinking up ideas of what kind of magic he could do, hands shoved deep in his pockets to hide from the chill and his breath coming out in visible puffs. Mostly, though, he worried. About what could go wrong, and how Dan perceived him. He didn't used to fret about that.

Back when Dan was just some guy, it didn't really matter what this kid with so many opinions thought about him, and by the time Phil _did_ care it was already too late to convince him that he was cool, or suave, or any of the things he was supposed to be. Those traits didn't seem to matter so much when Dan wanted to spend time with him anyway. 

The walk was a good idea. For the next week, Phil tried everything he thought of and then some: charms to heat their tea, spells to straighten their hair, even a potion that completely cleared Dan’s skin and had him glowing for days. But Dan seemed to have an explanation ready for every little thing, reasons involving science and illusions and obscure research papers he remembered and kept in his mind for situations such as these.

It was absolutely infuriating.

Obviously Phil’s small feats of magic weren't going to cut it. He had tried to listen to the blogs. To ease him in. Go slow. If he kept doing that, though, they'd never make any progress. They'd stay here forever, trapped in debates that were stimulating for Dan but downright painful for Phil, an integral part of himself being questioned without any chance to be seen. He can't keep doing it. 

Change might feel terrible, but this is worse.

“Y’know, I’m half-convinced you’ve been training to become a magician and all of this is just some elaborate, drawn out prank to get back at me,” Dan says one morning, after Phil tries to show him his control over air at breakfast and only succeeded in getting a lecture about interior wind currents.

“What is there to even get back at you for?”

“Dunno. Prank wars gone too far, or something.”

Not only is Dan doubting magic; he's now questioning Phil's intentions, which is a whole other level of awful.

“Well, I’m not.”

On a whim, Phil encourages wind to whoosh through their flat, no control added, letting it take itself wherever it pleases. The closed cereal box on the table falls over with a thud, their semi-transparent chairs creak, and the single open cupboard door slams shut, echoing out into the flat. It's a cathartic kind of chaos, letting him express himself without any real destruction. Dan looks down at the fallen-over box. Phil wills the air to his control and blows his fringe gently, leaving it puffed up as if he'd run his fingers through the curls. 

Dan looks to the window. It's open.

Of course it is.

Phil shuts it with a swipe of his hand, both of them sitting a few feet away. 

"Huh. Nice trick," Dan comments. For all intents and purposes, Phil had just used and controlled one of the four elements, but, sure, it's just a 'nice trick.' "Was that luck or did you plan that?"

And Phil. 

He's just. 

Done. 

He's done. This whole situation has gone on too long with no results. He's tired of the failed attempts and the hidden judgments and the new dynamic they've got going on. Phil doesn’t want to, but it’s clear that he’s going to have to do something big and freak Dan out in the process. His choices have run out.

"I have something to show you," Phil says, getting up from his seat at the table to go lean against the counter.

"A witchy thing?"

He nods. "You can stay there. I'll just do it here."

"And what exactly are you doing?"

Dan continues eating the last of his cereal with only a mild interest in him; Phil supposes that if he was in Dan's position, he'd probably be getting tired of it all, too. His 'antics,' Dan once jokingly called them. The word hasn't left him alone since. 

"You ever wish you could teleport, or like, go through a portal to get places?" Phil asks.

Dan puts his spoon in the bowl with a clang and pushes it away. "Is that a rhetorical question, or are you implying that's what you're doing right now?"

"Just watch."

Phil closes his eyes. What he's about to do isn't that hard in theory - it's a kind of portal like the one he uses to house his unfinished potions, but instead of leading to a storage unit, this one is going to go to his hometown, a perfect bridge of the space between here and there. 

Dan can't explain away travelling hundreds of miles in seconds. He physically can't. To be fair, Phil wouldn't be able to explain it, either, but he doesn't need to. Science can eat his ass. 

There's only one problem. 

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Dan asks.

"Shush." Phil tunes him out. "I need to concentrate."

He might have, maybe, never actually succeeded in casting this particular spell before, despite having watched his family do it for ages. So sue him. 

"On what, though?" Dan prods.

Phil quickly holds a hand up. "Shh!" He pictures the opening in his head. "Just wait."

"Alright," Dan mumbles. Phil can picture him pulling out his phone as he waits, an image verified by the sound of his home-screen unlocking. 

Phil takes a breath. This is it.

Magic flares up in him again. It's more concentrated this time - his encouragement lets it start slow, like the brief glow of fireplace embers, then builds up, the soft warmth turning into flames that feels like power, like change, like he's able to have an effect on the world around him. 

The energy fills his chest and sparks at his fingertips. When there's so much build-up that he feels like he's thrumming, Phil stills his mind, quieting it down to the essential. 

The only thought in his head is of the sidewalk in front of his childhood home. He thinks of the cracks he'd avoid stepping on as advised by old superstitions, of the time his shoe somehow got stuck on an edge and led to him scraping up his knee, of sharing lemonade with Martyn on hot days and licking his lips to rid them of the built up stickiness.

With the connection in mind, Phil reaches out and grabs the imagined opening with steady fingers, willing it to work with everything in him. 

Nothing.

Not even a catch in the air. 

Phil's breath comes out in a quick exhale. Before Dan can comment on anything, Phil says, "I almost have it. Just a bit longer."

He clamps down on the image in his mind, adding details as he goes: he can see the paint on his old house rubbed off by the weather, feel the humid air around him. He loses himself to the way it felt to be standing there in person during his last visit.

Phil's as close as he's going to get to actually being there when he reaches out and grabs the air a second time.

To his relief, there’s a tiny give, the compressed space between here and there bending to his magic. He inhales sharply. In his haste to not lose the connection, Phil tugs too fast, the little give he had slipping away as quickly as he got it, and he curses under his breath.

"Phil," Dan says, pity coating his voice.

Phil shakes his head. "No. It's only taking long because it's a new spell. I haven't mastered it yet." He recenters himself, imagining mud caked shoes from all the times he'd explore out back. The squelch of the cold murky water is so clear in his mind that it has to get him somewhere.

"Okay. Take your time."

Five whole minutes pass in silence with no progress. The lack of effect feels suffocating.

"I almost have it," Phil insists, once it's painfully apparent that nothing is happening.

Dan drums his fingers on the table. "How about we go do something else, yeah? Something non-magic related. Maybe that'll help." 

Phil can't help his scowl. "This is important."

"So is binging that new show." 

Normally he would appreciate Dan's attempt at lightening the mood, but now is not the time. Definitely not now. All he can think about in this moment is how he's failed yet again, how he loses more credibility in Dan's eyes the longer this goes on, how even at his best he can't get through to him and how upsetting that feels. 

But underneath all that disappointment, there's also a tiny thrum of anger hiding - it's not Dan's fault, but it sure feels that way when he refuses to see the most obvious things in front of him. 

"You don't get it." The whine in Phil's voice is insufferable, even to him.

"I mean, the galaxy thing was pretty neat. That counts for something."

Phil can feel a bitter laugh rising but pushes it down. He makes sure his voice is level before replying. "You still don't think it's magic, though."

"I think it's cool," Dan tries. "I wouldn't mind seeing it again."

Before he can reply, there's a sudden rusting in the corner of the room. Phil turns to see Sonic thrashing around in his cage, throwing up wood chips with the tip of his nose and pitter pattering around with such speed that the enclosure walls shake. He's a tiny steam engine demanding their attention.

"You ever notice how he always does that when tension starts to rise?” Dan tilts his head. “Do hedgehogs have a sixth sense, or is that just like a dog thing?”

Sonic's quills pop up like a spike strip. Phil feels a wash of relief run through him. He slides across their tiled floor to the hardwood in his mismatched socks and kneels down in front of the cage with all the grace of a newborn doe.

"What do you have for me?" he asks. Sonic uncurls and looks at him, quills flattened, but otherwise does nothing.

Phil touches the cage gently. “Come on. You know what to do." When he doesn't react, Phil adds, with a wave of his hand, "It can be anything. Some sparks. Make the cage float. Turn into your true form if you're lacking creativity."

Usually, by now there'd have been a sign from him. Some kind of guidance. A show of magic pointing Phil in the right direction, clues to finding the answer he was looking for, help of any kind. Something. Instead, all he gets are unblinking, beady eyes that tell Phil nothing other than the fact that sometimes familiars can be downright creepy.

“Sonic," Phil presses, just as Dan says, "Uh, mate? What ya doing?"

Phil ignores him. He lowers his voice and stares right at Sonic, hoping he can read the growing desperation on his face. "You're supposed to help me when I need it. It's now. I need it now.”

Sonic shifts his weight. He shuffles backwards, casts his snout downwards, and stays that way.

That's it. That's all he does. He lays down and closes his eyes as Phil becomes surrounded by the awkward silence of Dan coming closer to see what's up without saying anything more.

He can't quite keep his voice low anymore. "Why aren't you helping?" Phil demands. "Huh? Get out of that stupid cage and-" he pushes on the wire, not hard enough to move it but just enough to feel a give. "You're supposed to help. Why can't you do that for me? Just one little thing. I don't even care what."

"There's a really, _really_ slim chance of a god inhabiting our hedgehog," Dan says. He's stood behind Phil, a kind of nonchalance to his voice. “And even if there was, there'd probably be no point in bargaining anyway.”

At the sound of Dan’s voice, Sonic opens his eyes, stands up, and before Phil can even process the possibilities, he’s gone and popped out of existence soundlessly like he was never there in the first place. For a split second he thinks Dan has seen the disappearing act, only to realise that his body blocked his view. Phil’s shoulders slump.

"Great. Now he's gone," he mumbles to himself, cursing the entire idea of having a demon as a companion and pet. His mum always said they were too fickle for her tastes and now he’s beginning to understand what she’d meant.

"You probably scared him into one of his hidy-holes," Dan says.

Phil could explain that no, actually, Sonic wouldn't be hiding in his little cave or under his wheel, because he just saw him pop out of existence like he was just a demonic hallucination. But what's the point? Why should he bother? Dan wouldn't believe Phil at first anyway, and then after realizing that the cage was in fact now empty, he'd start tearing the flat apart looking for a hedgehog he'd never find. 

Maybe all of this was a bad idea.

He should have realized it sooner. The whole showing his magic thing wasn't going to work out. Some people won't understand him no matter how hard he tries, and Phil's just going to have to accept that. He doesn't want to live in the shadows, but what other choice does he have, faced with Dan's judgmental light that he's trying so very hard to keep hidden for Phil's sake, but that shines through anyway? Phil is cut-off, alone, unseen, no matter how hard he tries not to be.

It's just so...hopeless.

Phil feels some of the fight drain out of him, and he lets his hand fall from the wire of the cage. 

"I don't know how to fix this," he says, quietly. The effort of voicing the thought doesn't even feel worth it, the heavy realization taking up just as much space outside of his head as it did inside. 

“I’m sure he’ll come out eventually.”

“Not that,” Phil corrects. “My magic. You. The way they’ll never...fit together, or whatever.”

It's too much. He's sure Dan could come around eventually, especially if he ever came to visit his parents when they knew they had the a-okay to use magic; he would really struggle to find any explanations then. But Phil's tired. He wants the problem to go away. He wants to do magic around the house without worrying about Dan's reaction and to be himself without it being questioned. He just wants this stage of his life to be over. 

Phil turns around on the floor to look at him, tears of frustration pooling in the corner of his eyes. He wipes them away with the cuff of his hoodie hastily and huffs at himself. Dan's expression turns to concern. 

"You're really upset about this."

Phil stands up because it feels more like even ground when they don't have to crane their necks to look at each other. "You can't just- it's even worse because you think you're _right_. You're standing there and telling me you don't believe such an important part of me." He knows Dan will understand what he's saying. Will probably even sympathize with it. But that fact won't change anything. "It's so...invalidating."

Dan's reply is soft. "Phil. I'm sorry. I...believe that you believe it. I don't think you're lying."

"What do you think then?"

"That our belief systems don't match up? That we were raised to believe different things." 

Phil tries to put himself in Dan's shoes. If he were the one who didn't believe in magic, and suddenly someone claimed it was real and that they were a witch, he'd probably think they were off their rocker. He'd think they were mad.

Dan continues. "I'm not going to compromise on that, and you shouldn't have to, either."

"You think I'm crazy," Phil says. 

_"No._ No." Dan comes closer and touches his arm. "I think you're brilliant. We just don't happen to agree on this one thing. I'm fine with it. Really. If this makes you happy, my opinion on it shouldn't matter."

Phil wants to go and have a proper cry. "Of course it matters. You're important to me, and so is my magic." He pulls his sleeves over his hands. "I don't know how to fix this," he repeats.

"You don't have to. Look," Dan says, "I accept you as you are. Even with this." His hands find their way to Phil's jaw. They're warm, and big, and Phil lets himself be held, lets himself be comforted by the one who's unintentionally hurting him. "Can you please do the same for me? Please?"

It's not forever, he reminds himself. Just for now. Just until Dan, stubborn Dan, Dan who seems to never change his opinions once he decides on them, is ready to re-examine his world views. Phil takes a breath.

"Okay," he says. 

Dan smiles. "Okay."

Dan says he'll cook him supper tonight as a way to make it up to him, despite Phil's protests telling him he doesn't have to do that. He leaves to go get started as Phil stays in the living room, staring at Sonic's empty cage. He stands there for quite some time as he listens to Dan cooking in the other room, cutlery clashing as he pulls and shuts drawers, cupboard doors opening and closing, pans being taken out.

The only thing to do now is wait. Maybe bring Dan on a family trip with his parents and Martyn. Phil wanted a controlled environment so he could deal with whatever the fallout would be, but obviously controlled environments haven't been working in his favour. 

He supposes it’s just going to happen when it happens.

" _Fuck_ ," Dan hisses loudly. What sounds like a knife clatters on the counter. Phil brushes off his thoughts and hurries into the kitchen to find Dan with the edge of his thumb in his mouth, shoulders lifted and tense with pain. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he says quickly, raising his uninjured hand in Phil's direction. "Just a small cut."

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Sonic scurrying off, rounding behind a corner as fast as his little legs will let him. There’s no doubt in his mind that he had something to do with Dan’s slip-up. 

But that doesn’t make any sense - why would he hurt him? He knows who Dan is. He wouldn’t dare.

And suddenly, as he watches Dan nurse his wound, Phil is struck by the best idea he's ever had, one he should have had earlier when he was too preoccupied with the control and beauty of certain kinds of magic, too focussed on the most perfect feat he could do. Of course. This one will be subtle, and kind, and enough.

Phil is going to heal him. 

"Let me see," he says, closing the distance between them. Dan huffs like Phil's going to make a big deal out of nothing, but he still lets him guide his wrist closer so that Phil can see his thumb better. It's a shallow cut, blood barely willing up, but it's definitely there. "You're 100% cut," Phil stresses. "No denying it. It's there.” He guides the injury in front of Dan’s face so that he can really see it. 

Dan snorts, pulling away. "No shit."

Phil takes out his phone, brings Dan’s hand close to himself again, and snaps a picture before he can protest.

"I know you don't believe magic is real," Phil rushes out, "but can you please let me try one last thing? I know, I know you think it's bullshit. That's okay. If it doesn't work, I'll forget about all of it. I'll hide all my witch stuff. We'll never have to talk about it again."

He says it just to say it. Thing is, Phil knows it's going to work. It was the one kind of magic he aced when he was a kid. He doesn't even need an incantation, just a rose quartz for its healing properties, and intention. It'll be the easiest thing.

"I don't want you to have to hide your stuff," Dan says softly. He reaches out so that he's the one holding Phil's wrist this time with his non-injured hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I told you, I'm fine with it. Really."

Phil smiles. “So fine you'll let me try this one last thing?"

He explains that he's able to heal him. Dan is graceful in his reply, all for him trying it out, as long as Phil doesn’t put anything directly on his cut - which is fine, because all he needs is a specific gemstone and close contact. 

Phil rushes to grab a polished rose quartz from the bookshelf that fits in the palm of his hand and comes back. They decide to do it in the living room, rather than in the kitchen beside their unfinished supper, because injuries and food prep should never mix. They settle in on the couch. 

Phil gently cups Dan's injured thumb in his palm and closes his hand around it, careful not to have direct contact with the cut. The rose quartz sitting in his other hand, he closes his eyes, knowing in his heart of hearts that this is it for him, that on the very slim chance this fails, he can’t go back. His hope is run thin, and he doesn’t know if he’d have it in him to try again. 

Lucky for him, healing magic is more resilient than other kinds. 

Once he gets a hold on it it's easy to use, like it knows by itself what it has to do and all Phil needs is to guide it to the right area. The surge of energy he pulls from his centre is cool, like water in a stream, flowing from his chest, down to his arm, into his hand, to finally rest around Dan. He holds it there. 

It's over in seconds. Dan must feel something, because Phil hears a tiny, sharp inhale. He lets go, and Dan immediately pulls his hand back for a closer look. 

Dan is quiet as he turns his thumb over. He stares. And stares. The skin on the pad of his thumb stays taught as he pulls on it, no doubt checking for a separation that no longer exists. He’s silent for so long while looking that Phil is starting to get anxious. He clears his throat.

"So it worked?" he asks.

Dan looks up at him, defiance in his eyes. "Let me see your phone."

As a courtesy, Phil opens it up to the picture before passing it over. With a blank look Dan shifts his eyes to the photo and then back to reality, holding them up side by side like a before and after. Phil has no idea what he's thinking.

Dan drops the phone to the couch. Before Phil can stop him, he’s up and headed back into the kitchen. Phil follows. He watches as Dan picks up the discarded knife from earlier, brings it up to his healed skin, and pricks the pad of his thumb on the tip, hissing as he does so.

"Dan!"

The knife clatters as he hastily drops it. "Do it again." He extends his hand towards Phil. The smallest bead of blood has welled up.

Magic close to the surface from earlier, it barely takes Phil a second to fix it. He doesn't let Dan pull away this time.

"Are you okay?" Phil asks. "Why would you do that?"

"What the fuck," Dan whispers. He backs away so that his hips hit the counter, pressing his thumb and pointer finger together as if he's feeling for something. "What'd you do?"

This is it. He can feel it. Dan is edging into Phil’s world, steps away from falling into his truth. From the looks of his face, all confused and shocked and the littlest bit fearful, he’s probably already there. All he needs is confirmation.

Phil makes sure to speak clearly. "I healed you. With magic."

Dan shakes his head. "That's impossible." He looks at his thumb again, eyebrows drawn and expression frazzled. "Oh, my god."

"Are you okay?" he asks again.

"Am I fucking okay? Am I- Phil. You..." He puts his head in his hands. "You _healed_ me. What the _fuck_."

It takes everything in him not to say something along the lines of _I told you so_. Instead, he says, "Magic does have its perks." 

Dan looks up. "You weren't kidding." It sounds like a revelation. "You were serious. I mean I knew you were serious. But it's true." Dan looks around the room like the world is crumbling around him. "You really weren't kidding. You're a witch."

Hearing Dan finally say those words and mean it has Phil wanting to crumple to the ground in relief, but the way he looks, the way he says it...it's wrong. Dan runs a hand through his hair and pulls at his curls. His head tilts forwards with how hard he's pulling on them.

"How is that a secret," Dan breathes out. He gestures with his hands in the air like he's trying to point to an absurdity. "How can the world just _not know_?"

Phil shrugs. "There's only a couple hundred of us worldwide. None of us really care to be put up in a lab somewhere, so. A secret it is."

Dan turns to him. "Do something else. Anything." His voice has a desperate lilt to it.

The whole reason Phil wanted to start small was to not overwhelm him, and he’s not going to throw that to the wind now. "Maybe we should let you get used to it first."

"Get used to it? I'm fine.” Dan huffs. “I'm great. Nobody knows about this. And if I didn't happen to know you, I- I wouldn’t even know. How is this not common knowledge?” He pushes his hair back. “God. My life is a lie. Yeah. I've never been better, tbh.”

If Dan were more used to this, Phil would offer him one of his mum's calming draughts; half-filled cups of light blue liquid that taste like bubblegum. Maybe he'll offer one anyway - with the way Dan is fidgeting like he's drank one too many Red Bulls, it seems unlikely that he’d be able to freak out any more.

Suddenly, Sonic pops into the room at Phil's feet with a dramatic bang, and Dan lets out the shrillest yelp he's ever heard from him.

"The _fuck_."

Phil winces and bends down to pick him up. He makes sure his quills are flat and not prickling his palm before tucking his thumbs around the soft fur on his belly and bringing him up. 

Phil holds Sonic up to his eye-level. He whispers, low and menacing and serious, "Don't you ever hurt him again." 

Then he boops him on the nose.

Dan stares at the spot on the floor where Sonic popped in with a slightly dropped jaw. "Oh, let me guess. He's magic, too?"

Phil gives him a guilty look. Dan makes a high-pitched sound that could be interpreted as a whine.

"No. No. I was joking." 

"He's my familiar."

"What does that even mean?"

"He's like... a kind of demon?" At Dan's horrified expression, he rushes to continue. "Not an actual bad one. Just one in the form of an animal who helps me with my magic."

"You're telling me that we have a demon hedgie," Dan says, staring at Sonic like his little 500 gram body is going to attack. Phil holds him closer.

"Not...exactly. If it makes you feel any better, he's completely safe." He pauses. "Nearly completely safe."

Dan lets out a little sound. "If that makes me feel..." he repeats, shaking his head.

A day ago, Phil thought that Dan finally believing him would be enough, no matter the outcome. His reaction would come second to him finally accepting the reality in front of him. But Phil can't feel relieved, or comforted, or seen right now - concern for how Dan is taking all of this is stealing all the available space in his head. 

"Right. Right right right right. Yeah." Dan nods, then nods again, then gets up to pace around the room like he does when he's really stressed. He starts snapping his fingers. They make a repetitive dull sound. "We have a magical pet that I didn't know about. I don't suppose we have a magical garden as well?" His words come out fast and clipped. "What about the neighbours? Our landlord? Might as well throw them in for the count too while we're at it."

"You're freaking out."

"Mm hmm," he hums. 

Dan goes back to where he was, leans back against the counter, and slides down to the floor. He sits with his knees bent up and crosses his arms on them, burying his head there. 

Phil doesn't hesitate to put Sonic on the floor and go slide down beside Dan. He scoots so that their sides press up together as close as physically possible. He takes it as a good sign when Dan not only doesn't pull away, but also leans back into him. 

"Hey. Dan." 

Dan angles his body more towards him, but doesn't raise his head. "Dan," Phil repeats softly. Dan finally looks up, his eyes finding his. "It's fine. You're fine. The world is exactly the same as it was before. It's just that now...you know a little more about it. And about me."

Dan tucks his head back into his arms. "You don't get it," he says, the words coming out muffled. 

"I'm trying to." 

Dan knocks his shoulder into him. He sighs, and Phil can feel himself inching the littlest bit closer as his chest deflates. "Yeah. I know."

Things go smoother than Phil expected after that. 

It takes many hours of Dan asking him about his magic to finally be able to sit calmly with it. His interest in Phil’s answers is amped up to a whole new level now that he knows how real it all is, and it’s reflected in the kind of off-hand, impulsive questions Dan thinks to ask as soon as he’s thought of them.

“Do you wear pointy hats?”

Phil blinks, but Dan’s earnest expression remains the same. “No? You’ve seen my closet.”

It’s one of the first conversations they have, a couple of mornings after the healing incident, once Dan has had some time alone to process it all. They’re sat at the table, each with a cup of coffee warming their hands - Phil’s with one extra sugar than Dan’s. Phil blows on his. 

“Oh.” Dan pauses. “What about broomsticks?”

“Like, to fly on?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean… _technically_ I could enchant one. That wouldn’t be very comfortable, though, would it?” Phil mentally compares the thin, long stick of a broom handle to a tiny bike seat he once had to ride on, and shudders. 

Dan frowns. “Is any of the popular lore true, then? Where’s the cats, the cauldrons-“ his hands gesture in the air “-I don’t know, the classic witchy stuff?”

Phil hides a smile in his mug. Despite the odd questions, and despite the way Dan’s view of him keeps shifting, at least he sees him now, for real. 

He’s a witch. And after lots of trial and error, Dan is someone who actually believes him when he says it. 

It’s a start. 

“You’re stereotyping me so hard right now,” Phil says, no real bite in it. 

Even if Dan doesn’t understand everything at the moment, he will. He’s trying. He’s listening and asking questions and making an effort, and just that is enough to warm Phil’s heart.

Dan’s cheeks turn red. “Sorry,” he says, but Phil just laughs and reaches for his hand, his palm warm and steady against his. “It’s just…so new. And so _weird_. Like, what even.”

“You’ll get used to it.” 

Dan smiles. He brushes his foot against Phil’s under the table. 

“Yeah. Reckon I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3
> 
> my [tumblr](https://dip-dyed-ghost.tumblr.com/)


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